


Steel Blues

by lurkinglurkerwholurks



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Brotherly Love, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dick Grayson was not a great big brother but then he WAS because he TRIED and that's what matters, Domestic Fluff, Family Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Gen, Jason Todd Has Soft Hair, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Jason Todd is Robin, Professor Jason Todd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:21:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22196995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lurkinglurkerwholurks/pseuds/lurkinglurkerwholurks
Summary: Jason whirled, cheeks flushed. “Dick!” The kid had a talent for blurring the line between name and pejorative. “What are you doing here?”First, sort-of-brother Dick lends a hand to new family addition Jason. Then, years later, they get a second try.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd
Comments: 55
Kudos: 804





	Steel Blues

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starknjarvis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starknjarvis/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Professor Jason Todd](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16888818) by [starknjarvis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starknjarvis/pseuds/starknjarvis). 



Dick hadn’t planned to stay more for a minute. Really, if it had been up to him, he would have stayed for less than that. It would have been easy to scale the ivy on the side of the Manor and shimmy into his bedroom window. He had done it before, too many times to count.

Unfortunately, when he had moved from Gotham to Bludhaven, entering by means other than an approved door had been reclassified from “frowned upon” to “felonious.” Not by Bruce, because who cared, but by Alfred. You didn’t break Alfred’s rules for anything short of life and death. And even then, it was iffy.

He just needed to duck in, run up to his room, grab his duffel, and duck out. One minute. Ninety seconds, tops.

It wasn’t that Dick was _avoiding_ Bruce. He wasn’t. They weren’t fighting or anything. It was just… What _did_ you say to a man who adopted a strange kid right off the streets and let you learn about it in the morning papers?

And Jason wasn’t a bad kid. Rough around the edges, sure. Opinionated. Obnoxious. Cagey. Dick couldn’t get a read on if Alfred liked him, which made Dick feel uneasy, but Bruce clearly adored him. Not that Dick had lots of exposure to the kid to figure out his own feelings. They’d only crossed paths once or twice out of uniform, and in uniform, Dick kept things to business and brass tacks. Or his version, anyways, the one with the offputting jokes and stilted acknowledgements.

Dick wasn’t mad. He just felt…

He didn’t know what he felt, and that was part of the problem. Because whatever it was, it made the Manor feel like a stranger’s home.

Get in, get the stuff, get out. That had been the plan. He’d stuck to it pretty well, too. Alfred was somewhere deep in the house, and Dick was meeting him for brunch that weekend, so he didn’t feel bad about skipping out without a hello. Bruce got a stilted little nod and the allotted handful of seconds of small talk. And now Dick was taking the stairs two at a time to his room.

Get it, get the stuff, get out. He might even have time to raid the fridge for leftovers on his way out the door.

Except there was music curling out of an open door.

When Dick had lived here, that door had led to a guest bedroom—tastefully furnished but impersonal. He couldn’t have even said for sure what the color scheme had been, green or blue or some teal mix in between. Now it was firmly blue with accents of grey and white, but a color scheme surely arranged with the help of Alfred was not what caught Dick’s attention.

From the hall, he could see a rumpled bedspread, barely visible beneath the clothes piled atop it. Even as Dick watched, a jacket flew across the room to land atop the pile and then slid down to the floor with a dejected thump. Dick hadn’t been the neatest kid growing up and he had expected to see a similar setup in this room as he leaned against the doorjamb. Instead, the room seemed decent, other than the clothing-strewn bed. There was a bookshelf against the far wall, neatly lined with books and full to bursting. The floor was clear beyond the fallen jacket, and the wall held only a few framed posters, all carefully centered.

The owner of it all stood on the far end of the room, brow furrowed as he turned this way and that before the wall-length mirror.

“Hot date?” Dick quipped.

Jason whirled, cheeks flushed. “Dick!” The kid had a talent for blurring the line between name and pejorative. “What are you doing here?”

 _I live here_ hovered on his lips, but that was a lie, so instead Dick shrugged and nodded down the hall. “Came to pick up some stuff.” He cast a slow eye across the bed. “Fashion crisis?”

Jason muttered something that Dick didn’t catch. Dick had already turned his attention back to the room. “Love what you’ve done with the place.”

It came out sarcastic. He hadn’t meant it to. Dick had been trying for lighthearted teasing, but somehow he never managed to hit the right note with Jason. Maybe it was nerves. There was no reason for him to be nervous around a scrawny teenager with wrists the width of stool legs, but he was. Or maybe it was less nervousness and more awkwardness, another experience Dick was unaccustomed to.

“Sorry, is having the street rat down the hall harshing your richie-rich vibe?” Jason shot back.

“ _No._ ” Dick frowned and glared at the far wall before trying again. “I just mean I’m glad you’re settling in.”

Jason had turned back to the mirror, seemingly intent on blocking Dick out, but he had lapsed into grumbling as he rejected another shirt.

His minute had already passed, the clock ticking onward as Dick fumbled his way through basic social skills. He had said hey to the kid, so he’d done his duty, right? No need to stick around.

No reason at all, except he remembered what it felt like to be smack in the middle of puberty, a stranger in his own body with clothes that felt like they were made for clowns. It had been awkward and uncomfortable and stressful and had sucked more than words could express. And he’d been in a long-term stable home with a dad and a granddad who walked him through it. Jason had Bruce and Alfred, too, but did he know that? Did he know he could go to them for stupid stuff like having nothing to wear and pre-date jitters?

“Need a hand?” Dick offered, careful this time to keep his voice soft and open. It was harder than it should have been.

“What?”

Dick gestured at the still-growing pile on the bed. “It looks like you could use a second opinion.”

Jason eyed him in the reflection of the mirror, weighing the sincerity of the offer. Dick returned the gaze steadily. He’d meant it and had no reason to take back the offer. But when Jason turned and faced him fully, it was difficult not to flinch. Now it wasn’t his sincerity being evaluated, but his fashion sense and general coolness quotient. Jason eyed Dick from head to toe, mentally tabulating points for his hair, his clothes, his skincare routine, his life choices, his swagger, and who knew what else. It was like being gently loofa’d with sandpaper and then dipped into a lukewarm saltwater bath.

Dick held his breath until, at last, Jason gave a begrudging shrug. Not praise and acceptance, but he would take it.

“What’s the occasion?” Dick asked as he stepped fully into the room, then held up placating hands when Jason’s gaze sharpened into another glare. “Not prying. Context is key.”

“It’s nothing.” The reply came too fast, too casually. “Just food with some people. Maybe a movie after.”

Dick nodded and brushed by Jason to rifle through the closet. “Good. That gives you lots of options here.”

Jason crosses his arms, then uncrossed them, then recrossed them again. “It’s stupid. This is more clothes than I’ve ever had in my life. But nothing feels right.”

“The curse of too many options,” Dick agreed knowingly. “Okay, come here.”

Jason didn’t move, so Dick repeated himself until they were standing shoulder to shoulder in front of the closet.

“What here makes you feel the most comfortable? Don’t think about it. Just grab the stuff that makes you feel good when you put it on.”

Jason hesitated, fingers spasming uncertainly in the air, then reached for a shirt and held it up for Dick to see.

Dick nodded. “Okay, good. Anything else? Don’t think about making an outfit. Just show me your favorite stuff. Shirts, pants, jackets, whatever.”

Fifteen minutes later, they had Jason kitted out in an outfit built from his favorite pieces. Dick took note of the details to puzzle out later—the textures, the cut, the colors, the things that Jason liked and the things he didn’t. Maybe it would have been easier just to ask the kid, to say Dick wanted to know him better, but Dick had a streak for the difficult.

He tried to ignore the begrudging warmth growing behind his ribs as Jason studied himself in the mirror. He hadn’t asked for a brother, and Jason hadn’t asked for him either. This was Bruce’s pet project, his decision to take Dick’s colors, his decision to take their comfortable family and crack it wide open. It didn’t matter to Dick that the kid looked good, that he had a comfortable tilt to his chin that hadn’t been there before. Dick was just helping out the way he would with anyone else. You didn’t have to be brothers to pity adolescent insecurity.

So why were the next words out of his mouth, “So what are you gonna do with that hair?”

Jason’s hands flew to the offending locks. “What’s wrong with my hair?” The wariness from before failed to appear, instead superseded by lowkey panic.

Dick smiled and held up a finger. “Hold on a sec.”

Ducking out of the room, Dick hurried down to his old bedroom. The duffel bag, the object of his entire visit, sat by the foot of the bed. He bypassed it after only a moment’s hesitation and instead dug around his dresser drawer until he found the container he was looking for.

Back in Jason’s bedroom, he positioned the shorter boy in front of the mirror, then twisted off the cap.

“Product only on the tips of your fingers,” Dick said, showing Jason how the off-white paste barely filmed over his fingerprints. “Then work it into your hair with a light touch. The point is to add lift and structure, not to turn your head into a cement block.”

They both watched the reflection as Dick dug his fingers into Jason’s curls and ruffled and smoothed them into shape. For such a cagey, hard-edged little punk, he had remarkably soft hair.

When he finished, Dick twisted the cap back on to the squat little jar and held it out to Jason. “Moreau Paris Pomade. It sounds fancy, but you can pick it up at any drugstore.” He turned the jar around and tapped the label with one finger. “This is Steel Blues. Get your own scent, something you like. Any time you’re going to see _whoever_ you want to see, use it. Get them to pair the smell with you.”

Dick winked. “Trust me.” Then he set the jar in Jason’s hand. “And good luck hanging out with your ‘friends’ tonight. Remember, concealer is good for hiding bruises _and_ hickeys.”

He laughed as Jason’s squawk of outrage followed him down the hall.

* * *

An offer of help must be timed with delicate precision. It was a high-wire act, walking the balance between too soon and too late. From his flopped seat on the bed, Dick figured he had just a few more minutes to go.

“I look like I’m trying too hard,” Jason moaned. “I look like some Hollywood idiot’s _idea_ of a professor.”

The fingers on his right hand were already tugging at the bowtie around his neck.

“What’s wrong with that?” Dick asked from the bed. He had turned onto his back, heels propped against the wall and head dangling off the side. From his upside-down vantage point, he watched Jason pace back and forth across the narrow room as he worried the tie loose.

“That’s worse than trying too hard, birdbrain,” Jason said. “That makes me look _presumptuous_. And don’t think I missed that you didn’t disagree on the ‘trying too hard’ thing.”

“Jason, you _are_ a professor.”

Jason whirled, one finger raised warningly. “I am a _graduate student_. I teach classes as part of my graduate studies. To be a professor, I have to first be an associate professor, and to be that, I have to be an assistant professor, and to be _that_ , I have to teach as a postdoc first, and to be _post-doctorate_ , I have to _earn_ my doctorate. And to earn my doctorate, I have to go to Putnam Hall at 2 PM and defend my thesis and convince a room full of eggheads that I actually know my stuff and that I’m not a presumptuous idiot who’s trying too hard.”

“You need to breathe,” Dick noted.

“I’ll breathe when I’m dead,” Jason snapped back.

Dick let that one go.

Jason finally pulled the tie free from his collar and sent it fluttering across the room with a hurl. Every spare surface was already draped with jackets, pressed pants, button-downs, sweaters, and even a sweater _vest_ or two that had made Dick nearly bite through his own tongue to hold back the laughter.

Dick let Jason twist on the line for a few more minutes, then swung himself upright with a grunt. “Okay, I can’t watch this any longer. Hold still.” 

“Ah ah!” It was Dick’s turn to raise the warning finger. “Don’t argue with me. At this rate, you’re going to work yourself into a flop sweat and have to shower again.”

“Too late,” Jason mumbled, but he took an awkward perch on the least buried chair in the room.

Dick inspected each pile, then circled back to the closet, selecting pieces as he went. “Pick one,” he ordered, holding up two shirts, then tossing the winner to Jason. “Put on that pair of grey slacks, the one over there, and—do you have a belt?”

“Top drawer.”

Dick plucked the coiled black belt from the drawer and underhanded it to Jason. “And then… Where’s that blazer Cass gave you? The one with the leather sleeves?”

“Dick, no—”

“Dick, _yes_ ,” Dick retorted even as he found the jacket in the closet and brought it over to his brother. “You like it, it looks good, it meets dress code, and you’ll feel more like yourself in it. Pick a tie.”

He lifted an arm draped with choices. Jason hesitated in buttoning his shirt, then pointed. “That one. Alfred gave it to me.”

“Good choice.” With the pieces picked out, it was easy enough work to get Jason put together. Dick grabbed his brother’s shoulders and turned him to face the mirror once more.

“Hey there, Professor Todd.”

“Don’t jinx me,” Jason hissed, then ducked his head to fiddle with his sleeve cuffs. “You don’t think Bruce is mad I’m not going with the full Todd-Wayne for this?”

“Nah. He gets it. I think he wishes he had a way to slip off the last name from time to time if he could. It can be kind of a…”

“Fluorescent strobe light that brings in all the gossipmongers and lookie-lous in a thirty mile radius?” Jason finished drily.

“I think thirty is underselling it, but yeah.” Dick chuckled and reached around his brother to the dresser. “One last touch.”

He plucked the canister sitting on the faux wood top, then snorted fondly when he read the label. “Still using Moreau, huh?”

Jason shrugged. “If it works, it works.”

Dick raised one eyebrow, remembering his younger brother’s fluster as he prepared for the mysterious not-a-date. “And did it?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“What scent did you end up picking?” Dick had always meant to go back and ask, figuring he could use it as an in to make small talk that could then turn into something deeper. He’d never gotten around to it. Work had gotten in the way, and the Titans, and he’d kept putting it off, then everything had gone wrong with Babs and… Well. He’d never gotten around to it.

Dick’s eyebrow rose as he read the finer print. “Steel Blues?”

Jason shrugged again, his expression suspiciously cool. “Like I said. If it works, it works.”

Dick smiled and ruffled his little brother’s hair. He half-expected Jason to bat him away, but all his little brother did was tease at the way Dick had to stretch to reach. The curls were still soft and silky.

When he had finished, Dick stepped back and swallowed the lump in his throat as he stared at their reflection in the mirror. “You look… You look good, Jay.”

And he did. The man standing before Dick was no longer the awkward, jaded teen intruder he’d avoided as a stupid twenty-something. Jason was an adult now in more than just age. He looked… Happy. Healthy. Confident and assured of his place in the world. He looked good.

“We’re really proud of you,” Dick murmured. “All of us. So proud.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jason said roughly. But his eyes were soft and crinkled as he plucked his watch from the dresser and clasped it around his wrist. “I know. Thanks, Dick. For coming over. And especially for keeping everyone else out. I assume that’s your doing. Where is everyone, anyways?”

Back on firmer emotional ground, Dick could feel his cheek dimple puckishly. “Making banners to wait for you in the hall outside Putnam.”

“Dick!”

Dick laughed. “I’m joking. We’re going to meet you at the Manor for a celebratory dinner afterward.”

“Don’t say celebratory,” Jason begged.

“An eat-your-feelings party, then,” Dick conceded with another grin. “Alfred’s food is good for it either way. You should see the spread he has planned. I don’t think he’s gone this all out since my engagement.”

“Oh god,” Jason groaned. “I had to let out the waistbands of all my pants after that meal.”

“Maybe pack a pair of sweatpants in your bag,” Dick suggested. He swung an arm around his brother’s neck and pulled him into a quick hug. “We’ll see you after. You'll do great.”

“Thanks for your help,” Jason mumbled into his neck, for once not fighting the embrace.

“Hey, what are brothers for?” Dick grinned as he stuck a spit-soaked finger into his baby brother’s ear then sprinted for the door.

“DICK!”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is for Starknjarvis in honor of her birthday, so I filched her Professor Jason headcanon. Her fic linked in the Inspired By section and you should give it a read.
> 
> Also, for anyone confused, at the end Dick executed what is known as a Wet Willie, which is a reserved privilege of older brothers and _absolutely vile_.


End file.
